Dawn broke cold over Ebonheim's eastern gate, turning morning mist to silver threads between the pines.

Ryelle adjusted the pack straps cutting into her shoulders and wished, not for the first time, that divine avatars didn't need to pretend at mortal limitations. The kanabō felt wrong strapped horizontally across her back instead of hanging ready at her side, but merchants didn't carry war clubs like they expected battle.

"Ready for adventure, my dear?" Roderick's voice boomed across the staging area, loud enough to wake half the settlement.

The merchant wore his traveling robes—rich fabric that managed to look both expensive and practical, trimmed with trinkets from a dozen different kingdoms. His beard caught the dawn light like copper wire.

"Adventure." Ryelle rolled the word around her mouth, tasting its shape. "That's one word for it."

"Prefer another?" Roderick's eyes twinkled, but tension lived in the corners of his smile. "Reconnaissance sounds so military. Investigation too formal. Spying has unfortunate implications."

"Spying is what we're doing."

"Details, details." He waved a dismissive hand. "We're merchants engaging in perfectly legitimate trade with our eastern neighbors. If we happen to observe certain sociological phenomena while conducting commerce, well, that's simply being attentive businessmen."

Simon materialized beside his employer without sound, a tall shadow wrapped in a heavy cloak despite the morning's relative warmth. The mask covering his face caught no light, drinking in the dawn like cloth woven from absence.

He said nothing, but his hand rested on the pommel of the greatsword strapped across his back.

Evelyne approached from the direction of her workshop, leading a small handcart loaded with what appeared to be surveying equipment. Wooden cases, leather satchels, instruments that gleamed with magitech integration. Her raven hair was pulled back severely, and bags under her lavender eyes spoke of a sleepless night spent preparing.

"Everything calibrated?" Ryelle asked.

"As much as can be done without field data." Evelyne's accent wrapped around the words, softening consonants. "The sensors should detect residual corruption signatures, but I've disguised them as standard measurement tools. To anyone watching, we're simply conducting geological surveys for potential trade route expansion."

"Anyone watching being demons who've already corrupted one military organization."

"Oui. Them." Evelyne's smile held no humor. "Which is why I've also packed more... direct instruments. Just in case surveys become insufficient."

Th'maine shuffled into view, bent under the weight of years and the heavy pack strapped to his hunched shoulders. His frayed brown robes looked like they'd survived at least three different centuries, and his scraggy gray beard had bits of breakfast caught in it.

Pale blue eyes stared at something middle-distance, seeing things others couldn't.

"Bah," he muttered to the air. "Roads, always roads. In my day we walked the wild paths, followed deer tracks and spirit-roads. Now it's all cobbles and cart ruts, stamped flat by merchant boots and military precision—bah, not precision, regimentation. Different thing entirely, mind ye."

"Good morning, Th'maine," Roderick said carefully. "Sleep well?"

"Sleep? Sleep!" The old arcanist's head snapped up, focusing on Roderick with sudden intensity. "Sleep's for the young and the foolish. I've been working, merchant. Tracing flows, reading resonances. Ye know what I found?"

"What did you find?"

"Echoes. Shadows of workings that shouldn't be there, not in the eastern valleys. Someone's been busy, oh yes. Very busy indeed." His gnarled hand gestured eastward. "We'll see soon enough. Always do, when ye go poking into dark places with bright eyes and brave hearts."

Ryelle raised an eyebrow at him. "You're coming along too?"

"Course." His tone implied this should be obvious to everyone. "Ebonheim sent for me. Said there were things that needed unraveling. Twisted magic, tainted rituals." He wiggled his fingers. "It's my sort of work, y'see."

The idea of traveling with someone already half-unraveled in his own head didn't inspire confidence, but Ryelle had learned to trust Ebonheim's hunches even when her own instincts disagreed.

If Th'maine was the Arcanist her goddess-self trusted for this mission, then he was the Arcanist. That was that.

Hector's caravan assembled around them, a dozen wagons laden with goods bound for Corinth and settlements beyond. The caravan master himself, a weathered man whose face looked carved from the same oak as his wagons, checked harnesses and cargo straps with the ease of long practice.

"Merchants joining us?" He looked the group over with the assessing gaze of someone who'd spent decades judging character and cargo. "That's Roderick Sedley, if I'm not mistaken. Heard you were establishing eastern trade connections."

"Exploring opportunities." Roderick's merchant smile slid into place like a mask. "My associates and I wish to assess Corinth's market potential. I trust that's acceptable?"

"Your coin's good as anyone's. Just keep up with the pace and don't cause trouble in settlements we pass through." Hector's gaze lingered on Simon's masked face, then on Ryelle's barely concealed weapons, before dismissing whatever concerns he had. "We leave in ten minutes. Fall behind, you're on your own."

The caravan rolled north-east as the sun climbed above the mountains. Ryelle walked beside the rearmost wagon, her divine senses ranging ahead and behind, cataloging threats that probably didn't exist.

Three weeks training with Liselotte had rewired something fundamental in how she perceived the world. Every shadow held potential ambush. Every bend in the road offered tactical advantage or disadvantage. Every stranger was a fighter until proven otherwise.

The forest pressed close on both sides, Eldergrove's ancient trees watching the road like patient elders observing children at play. Birds called from the canopy. Small animals rustled through underbrush.

Normal sounds. Peaceful sounds. Sounds that did nothing to quiet the predatory awareness thrumming through her blood.

"You're going to wear yourself out before we even arrive." Evelyne had fallen back from her position near the front of the caravan, matching Ryelle's pace. "I can feel you broadcasting tension from twenty paces."

"Just staying alert."

"You're stalking an empty road like it personally insulted you." The artificer's voice carried dry amusement. "Liselotte really did change something in you, didn't she?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." Ryelle bent down, picked up a stone, and lobbed it at a branch overhead. A bird shot out with an indignant squawk, and, yes, there was that small, savage satisfaction in disrupting a perfectly peaceful morning.

Evelyne's lavender eyes studied her for a long moment. Her hand traced the air in a series of quick gestures—too fast for Ryelle to follow—but the pulse of Arcane energy that accompanied the movements left little doubt this was artificer magic at work. As quickly as the spell activated, its tendrils dissipated on the wind, the residual effect dissipating immediately.

Ryelle looked sideways at her. "What was that for?"

"Read your aura, divine-to-Arcane energy ratios, base personality resonance and fluctuations." She paused for a half-step. "It's a diagnostic, not an attack, if that's your worry."

"No offense, Evee, but magic that scans my insides is always going to worry me a bit." Ryelle rolled her shoulders. The road rolled by. "So what did all that wiggling tell you?"

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"More than I expected, honestly." A hint of a smile touched the artificer's face. "It appears that whatever the harpy queen did to you, it's resulted in a more acute balance between your two halves. The divine energy and the draconic nature are responding to each other more directly." Another pause, the length of a stride. "You're still you. Just a more authentic version."

"Liselotte called it balance. I'm still figuring out what that means."

"Perhaps it means enjoying the journey as much as preparing for battle. Just a thought." Evelyne patted her arm, and Ryelle realized she'd been clenching her fists hard enough to hurt. "We're traveling with a merchant caravan on a well-established road. The greatest danger right now is tripping over a root and looking foolish."

"The greatest danger is assuming we're safe just because things look normal."

"Touché." Evelyne conceded the point with a slight nod. "Though I'd argue there's a middle ground between paranoid hypervigilance and naive complacency. One that allows for, oh, perhaps breathing occasionally?"

Ryelle laughed despite herself. "Fine. Middle ground, no paranoia." She took a deliberate breath, in, out. "Better?"

"Much. Now if only my magitech sensors worked so easily..."

Roderick drifted back to join them, his shorter legs working to match their pace. "Lovely morning for subterfuge and potential disaster, wouldn't you say? Really brings out the optimist in a man."

"You seem cheerful for someone heading into potential danger," Ryelle observed.

"Merchant habit." Roderick patted one of his numerous pouches, making coins jingle. "If I'm going to risk my neck, might as well do it with style and a positive attitude. Besides, worrying never changed outcomes. Just gave you indigestion before the inevitable."

"Fatalistic philosophy for a trader."

"Practical philosophy for someone who's crossed the Contested Marches three times and lived to complain about the tolls." His grin flashed white in his copper beard. "Though I'll admit, this particular venture has me more nervous than usual. Demons and mind control weren't in my original business plan."

Simon drifted back without sound, falling into step behind Roderick like a shadow remembering its duties. The masked bodyguard's head swiveled constantly, tracking movement in the forest, but he offered no commentary.

"You've traveled to Corinth before?" Evelyne asked Roderick.

"Twice. Both times felt... odd. Couldn't articulate why, exactly. The people were friendly, the trade terms fair, the settlement prosperous." His jovial mask slipped, revealing genuine confusion beneath. "But something about the place made my skin crawl. Like walking through a beautiful garden and slowly realizing all the flowers are silk."

Th'maine materialized beside them, having apparently teleported from his position near the front wagons through means known only to ancient arcanists and stubborn cats.

"Silk flowers," he cackled, "aye, there's truth wrapped in metaphor. Pretty to look at, lasting forever, but no scent, no life, no truth in their roots. Just dead fabric shaped to fool the eye."

"When did you visit Corinth?" Ryelle asked.

"Never set foot in the cursed place, and don't plan to start now." His pale eyes fixed on the eastern horizon. "But I've felt it from afar, oh yes. Felt the wrongness seeping into the valley's bones like poison into a wound. Xellos built himself a monument to control dressed as a city of prosperity."

"Can you sense the artifacts from this distance?"

"Sense?" Th'maine spat to the side. "Girl, I could map their positions blind-drunk in a thunderstorm. Seven sources, networked like spider silk. Each one maintaining the whole, redundant and reinforcing. Clever work, I'll grant the bastard that. Destroy one and the others compensate. Destroy three and they adapt. Need to take them all at once, or not at all."

Evelyne's eyes sharpened. "The corruption broadcasts on a frequency?"

"Frequency, resonance, call it what ye like. Modern words for ancient truths." The old arcanist tapped his missing-finger hand against his temple. "It hums, constant as heartbeat, pervasive as fog. Anyone living in that hum long enough starts believing the thoughts it whispers are their own."

"So not direct control," Ryelle said. "More like... suggestion?"

"Suggestion!" Th'maine's laugh sounded like breaking sticks. "Aye, if ye call a river's current a suggestion to the leaf caught in it. The artifact doesn't force—forcing breaks minds, makes obvious slaves. No, it guides. Gentle pressure over months and years, shaping thoughts like water shapes stone. The victim never realizes they've changed because the changes feel natural, feel right."

The road curved through a clearing where someone had cleared fallen trees years ago, creating a natural rest stop. Hector called a halt to water horses and let travelers stretch legs cramped from walking.

Ryelle took the opportunity to climb a fallen log, gaining a few feet of height to survey their surroundings.

Forest on all sides. Mountains rising to the north. The road stretching east toward Corinth, still half a day's travel away.

Everything looked normal. Felt normal.

The predator in her chest prowled restless anyway, convinced danger lurked just beyond perception.

"Ye've got the sight," Th'maine said from below, having somehow climbed onto the log beside her without making sound. "The dragon-gift, the hunter's awareness. Knew it soon as I saw ye after ye returned from the Harpy Queen's domain."

"Gift feels like a curse right now."

"Aye, it would. Ignorance is comfortable. Knowing the world's full of threats that want ye dead?" He shrugged bony shoulders. "That's truth, girl. Hard truth, but truth all the same. Better to see clearly and be afraid than walk blind and confident."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"Comfort's for children and fools. Ye're neither." His pale eyes tracked something in the distant canopy. "Besides, we're going to need that hunter's awareness before this venture's done. The demons in Corinth aren't stupid—they'll spot investigators faster than flies spot carrion. But a merchant's bodyguard, quietly watching, seeing what merchants miss?"

He chuckled again. "That might slip past their notice long enough to matter."

The caravan resumed its journey an hour before midday. The forest began to thin as they traveled, cultivation replacing wild growth. Farms spread across the landscape, fields rich with late summer growth. Cattle grazed in pastures bordered by neat stone walls. Everything spoke of prosperity and careful management.

"Corinth's agricultural output has tripled in the past five years," Roderick commented, gesturing at the farmland. "Whatever else Xellos might be doing, he's certainly made the settlement thrive economically."

"Easy to be productive when everyone's mind runs on the same track," Evelyne muttered, already assembling one of her sensor devices. The magitech creation looked like a surveyor's transit, complete with brass fittings and crystalline lenses. "No time wasted on disagreement or individual initiative."

The first houses appeared around a bend in the road. Small cottages with thatched roofs and flower gardens out front. A woman hanging laundry waved at the caravan, her smile bright and empty as summer sky. Children played in a yard, their laughter carrying across the fields with mechanical regularity.

Ryelle's hand drifted toward her concealed kanabō.

"Easy," Simon murmured, his first words of the journey. The masked swordsman's voice carried no particular accent, no identifying markers. Just flat observation. "No threats yet."

"Yet."

They passed more farms, more cottages, more waving residents. Everyone smiled. Everyone looked healthy, prosperous, content. The uniformity of it crawled across Ryelle's skin like insects.

Then Corinth itself rose into view.

The settlement spread across a gentle valley where two streams converged, stone buildings arranged in concentric circles around a central square. Eight thousand people called this place home, and their collective presence created a sense of density without crowding. Wide streets paved with fitted stone. Public fountains providing water at regular intervals. Gardens integrated into the architecture, bringing green life into grey stone.

It was beautiful.

It was wrong.

Ryelle couldn't articulate why. Nothing obvious marked the wrongness—no demon sentries at the gates, no prisoners in chains, no visible suffering. But something in the settlement's bones felt hollow, like biting into fruit that looked perfect but tasted of nothing.

"Mon Dieu," Evelyne breathed beside her. "It's like someone designed an ideal city and forgot to include actual people."

"There are people everywhere," Roderick pointed out, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Are there?" Evelyne's sensor device hummed quietly, crystals flickering through color spectrums invisible to normal sight. "Or are there inhabitants who look like people but move through prescribed patterns, following invisible rails?"

Th'maine had gone silent, his pale eyes distant and unfocused. When he spoke, his voice carried harmonics that made Ryelle's teeth ache. "Seven lights burning in the dark, seven threads weaving the web. Can ye see them, girl? Can ye feel how the whole place hums with imposed harmony?"

"I feel something." Ryelle's divine senses stretched, questing, finding resistance where they should have found... something. Anything. Corinth existed in her awareness as a void, an absence shaped like eight thousand people. "It's like trying to see through fog that shouldn't be there."

The caravan approached the main gate, where guards in neat uniforms checked cargo manifests and asked polite questions. Their movements were efficient without being robotic, their questions reasonable without being invasive. Everything about them screamed trained professionalism.

But they all smiled the same way. Used the same inflection patterns. Asked questions in the same sequence.

"State your business?" The lead guard, a man with sergeant's insignia on his shoulder, addressed Hector with practiced courtesy.

"Trade. Bringing goods from Ebonheim and points west, collecting eastern products for return journey."

"Expected duration of stay?"

"Three days, perhaps four. Depends on market conditions."

The sergeant made notes on a ledger, his handwriting as neat as his uniform. "Any passengers?"

"Merchants looking to assess trade opportunities." Hector gestured toward Ryelle's group. "Roderick Sedley and associates. They'll probably stay longer than the caravan."

The sergeant's gaze moved to Roderick, and for a moment Ryelle saw something flicker behind his eyes. Recognition? Suspicion? Then it vanished, replaced by that same empty courtesy.

"Welcome to Corinth," he said, and smiled like someone remembering how smiling worked. "May your trade be profitable and your stay pleasant."

The gate opened. The caravan rolled through.

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